Warden's Thorn
by OrnatiaOfFerelden
Summary: When Ornatia, a city elf hailing from Ferelden, is faced with an arranged marriage, the prejudice and inequality facing her kind comes forward in the purest of light. As the alienage she once called home begins to crumble around her, as the result of her desperate actions, all seems lost. That is, until she meets Duncan- and is thrust into the life of a Grey Warden.
1. For Allistair

**For Allistair**

For their memory,

And legacy,

And for the eternal remembrance of lost love:

That of Ornatia and her dear, beloved Allistair.

Unrequited through death,

Yet inseparable through the eternal flames of passion,

Twas' a longing kindled through heroism.

Put out by the final darkness that awaits us all,

Tears shed unseen by the other,

A single rose, fallen in battle.

The greatest sacrifice,

Demanding the utmost sense of loss.

It was at the naivety of society that they both suffered,

A prejudice of origin that bound them as one.

He, having a past of uncertain illegitimacy.

Her, born into the certainty that she was destined to be lesser.

But together they grew

Of mind, heart, and soul.

Fighting inner battles amongst themselves,

And conquering the undeniable evil that plagued their home.

A boy became worthy of the throne,

A true king, to say the least.

A girl left her past behind her,

No stereotype to bind her as any less that a true hero.

But to truly bring any form of end to such a curse,

A sacrifice must have been made.

A life for a life.

Pure hate for pure love.

The sword she plunged through the entirety of the archdemon.

A nation she saved with the last of her breaths.

And a hopeful future she preserved for her beloved land,

As she forfeit her own, the world's fate at hand.

Her body laid still, a grim reminder of what once could have been.

Her companions stood silent in solemn grief,

And each went on their way,

For this was the end.

**Nay, her eyes would ne'er open again.**


	2. Betrothed

_Everyone, whether great or small, has a story to be told- be they tales of loss and love, retreat and conquer, or despair and joy. Within the hearts of each soul lay untold truths, waiting to be revealed. This is one such a story, and it begins in a small alienage in the walls of Denerim, a great, old city, which itself takes refuge in the land of Ferelden. This is the tale of an elf named Ornatia._

"Wake up, cousin!" called Shianni, shaking the small bed as the spoke. "Do you not remember what today is?" She talked in an urgent tone of voice, emphasizing the importance of the inevitable ceremony to come.

"Oh, I'm well aware of what _today_ is," the figure cocooned in several layers of ragged bedding groaned, "and that's precisely why I intend to sleep in."

"Ornatia," the girl's cousin whined, "if not today, it'll happen tomorrow."

"Perfect- all the more sleep for me, then."

"You'll have to wake up at some point!" Shianni shouted desperately.

"Try me." The girl who had clearly no intent to wake up, at any given time, glared ferociously at the relative who had dared to disturb her slumber. There was obviously nothing to be done about the situation at hand.

A knock at the door interrupted the two's dispute. "Ornatia," a voice shouted through the plywood excuse for privacy, "It's me, Soris. Can we talk?" Shianni sighed as her cousin grouchily rolled over in bed. "It's important," the voice continued.

Shianni looked at Ornatia with pleading eyes, "At least get out of bed, will you?" The cocoon responded with an implicit consensual grunt before forcing herself off of the rickety mattress.

"Fine," she directed towards both Shianni and the entity outdoors. "I'll meet you by the tree in a minute!"

Ornatia, the girl who was now begrudgedly getting dressed, looked nothing like her cousin. Whereas Shianni had red hair light brown eyes, Ornatia had pure white hair and light grey eyes. In fact, she looked nothing like _any_ of her relatives. "You really are pretty, you know," said Shianni, watching her cousin pull up her long, wavy hair into a tight bun, Ornatia's trademark wisps of fine hair falling out in front. "He's lucky."

"I don't even know him. This isn't what I want."

"Be positive, your mom and dad didn't know each other eith-" she redhead started, before she was quickly interrupted.

"I'm not my dad, and my mother's dead. I don't want to talk about what's never going to happen. Ever. I told you, I just going out to talk to Soris." With that, Ornatia walked out of the house, which was really more of a shack, truth be told. She effortlessly navigated the cramped alleyways of the alienage, stepping past litter and debris. All along the sides of the dusty street lay beggars, young and old. The alienage was not a pretty sight in the least. The city elves, once slaves of the rich and royal, had been "free" for 400 years. No longer were they forced to work for food. Now, the elves could live as they wished- up until their houses were burned to the ground, and they were restricted to jobs of servitude. Wonderful, really. But which was better- being forced to work for a living, or having no choice other than to work at the feet of abusive lords for a living?

"_"They planted a tree in the middle of the alienage long ago. Today it stands tall, healthy and green in sharp contrast to the city around it. For we are the poorest of the poor, the unwanted and the unwelcome huddled on the other side of the wall that separates us from the human part of the city. We are allowed to go there, to work on the docks or in their taverns and in their homes, but when dusk comes we must return. Any elf caught outside the alienage at night is likely to be mistaken for a sneak-thief or a pickpocket and let us be honest, the ones that stay out there at night probably are._

_Our elder tells us that the tree is called the vhenadahl, and in the ancient elven tongue that means tree of the people. Its roots are deep and the elder says that as long as the vhenadahl lives so shall we. But he also says that there was once a time when our people lived in their own lands. He says that we were once ageless and strong, that it was the humans who took all this from us._

_Is it true? Have we fallen so far? We are not unhappy. As poor as we are, we have a home. The alienage is no prison; it protects us, just as the vhenadahl shelters us. We dance and sing and make merry, stealing what moments we can to enjoy what little we have and I believe we appreciate it far more than the humans do. They have everything and appreciate nothing._

_And perhaps the day will come when the humans come and try to take the alienage from us, too. If that day comes, I swear they shall regret it."_ *

Ornatia looked up at the great tree which stood in the middle of the prison she had come to know as home. In the shadow of the tree's foliage sat Soris, waiting. "I have to say," he began, as Ornatia stepped closer, "I was seriously beginning to doubt that you'd come. But alas, here you are."

"Here I am. What is it you needed so terribly to discuss, exactly?"

"I'm so terribly sorry to have interrupted your, erm, rest. But we do need to talk- why don't you sit down?"

"Very well. But please, for the sake of us both, just get to the point," she grumbled, taking a seat beside him.

"We're cousins, and-"

"Are we, really!?" she mocked.

"As I was saying," continued Soris, clearing his throat, "you know I care about you, I honestly do. Now, just hear me out. I know you're not exactly excited about the wedding, but you should look on the bright side."

"You wouldn't exactly understand, now would you? If I had known this was going to be some pre-wedding pep talk, that, by the way, is _never_ going to happen, I wouldn't have come." Ornatia stood up, looking back at her cousin, Soris, and then turned around to leave.

"Actually, I do understand. Ornatia, I'm getting married, too."

Freezing at Soris' words, she looked back around, in utter disbelief. "To whom?" she inquired demandingly.

"I don't know, either. Now will you come back here so we can talk?

Ornatia paced back, still in shock. "When?" she stuttered.

"Today, actually. Same as you."

Together they sat for a while, Soris looking out at the sky, and Ornatia at the ground. Ornatia was the first to speak. "We don't have to. I mean, do we?"

Soris looked back at his cousin, sampling stating that it was "the way things worked." "The way it was," and "the way it would be."

"Nobody's telling you that you have to love him at first sight. It takes time," he said.

"I would much rather choose who I marry," Ornatia spat.

"Your father chose who he thought would be suited best. He's looking out for your best interest. Believe it."

Ornatia looked up at someone she viewed as one of her closest friends, not just a cousin. "The best here, perhaps, but what about out _there_…" She motioned at the gate with her eyes.

"This is home, Ornatia, like it or not."

"I guess."

"Will you at least meet him? I'll go with you."

She pouted for a moment in instinctual refusal, before simply frowning in compliance. "And try not to look so grumpy," he added, laughing.

There they stood, just ten feet away- Nelaros, Ornatia's apparent groom-to-be, and Valora, Soris' apparent bride to be.

"Oh, Maker," groaned Ornatia, "he's not even _that_ cute."

"Oh, Maker," mocked Soris, "the ornery beast only cares about looks, after all!" He abruptly received, in the opinion of his cousin, a well-deserved shove.

Together the two friends approached their "fiancés." Soris wore a charming smile, and shortly thereafter nudged his cousin, resulting in a more trying-too-hard, yet remarkably do-I-look-like-I-honestly-care grin. It was terribly unconvincing, to say the best.

"Hello! I'm Soris, and you must be…?"

"Valora. It's nice to meet you," said the clearly shy girl that stood before him. She was not especially beautiful by any means, but she did have a delightful, kind smile.

"The name's Nelaros and I suppose you would be the wonderful woman that I am to marry? It's great to make your acquaintance."

"Funny, how we're just making 'acquaintance' and yet we're getting married. When was the wedding, again? Oh, yes- _today_. Silly me, how could I forget," Ornatia said, her monotone voice bringing about an awkward silence, followed by the uncomfortable laughs of the other three.

"Well," Soris broke in, cutting off the mechanical laughter, "I guess it's about time we all get ready. We'll see you soon!" As the pulled Ornatia away by the arm, he tossed a genuine smile back at Valora.

"Glad that's over," mumbled Ornatia.

"He seemed like he was trying to be nice. Maybe you should do the same," scolded her cousin.

"Always the critic, honestly…"

"Go get dressed. I'll see you at the wedding." He grinned as he walked past.

Ornatia seemed to grimace with inner pain at "wedding." Yet, her cousin had convinced her to go through with what couldn't be helped. She wasn't happy, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. For one, it's what her father wanted. For another, her cousin, whom she secretly respected, wasn't backing out. It was one thing to have everyone else tell her that it would be alright, but to hear it from someone who actually knew what she was going through was another. Shianni was glad to see her come around, and careful not to say anything that would change Ornatia's mind. Ornatia finally smiled when she saw the wedding dress, though; it had been her mother's. Compared to the stitched rags she currently wore, it was fit for a queen. In reality, however, a queen would probably scoff at its poor quality of cloth. There was no denying, though, that hours upon hours had been spent in the dresses beadwork, which stretched from the collar to the hem. To top it off, the dress was a perfect fit.

Things were looking up, come the time of the wedding. The sun was just beginning as the double wedding commenced. Ornatia stood at the side of Nelaros, with Soris beside Valora. Ornatia, truly, looked beautiful. Her hair reflected the last, colorful rays of the sun, and her dress fell to her feet gracefully. She held out her hand, Nelaros taking it with a smile. He wasn't that bad looking, from a new, more positive perspective. He slid the humble gold- _or was it brass?_ – Ring onto her finger. Ornatia looked back at her red-headed cousin, who in turn looked behind her. When Shianni looked back at Ornatia, it was clear that something was wrong. Her face contorted in a mixture of disgust, surprise, and the slighted hint of fear. Shianni was _never_ afraid.

It was then that she saw what Shianni had been looking at- Lord Vaughan, as well as his men, were coming their way. One of his men unsheathed his sword as they came closer. The nasty, cruel, grin of a rat formed upon the noble's lips. His intentions, although unknown, were clearly not of good merit.

"Excuse me for interfering," he said with rotten drag in tone, "I hate to spoil a good celebration, but I have my own to attend to. If you would be so kind," he continued, "I should like some of the ladies to attend. If not-" The rest of his men drew their swords, "well, I doubt that's going to happen." The laugh that followed was enough to make the vilest of sewer creatures writhe in disgust. It was sickening in every fashion of evil.

_*Excerpt of Dragon Age: Origins_


	3. The Rat

_It is in heart of society that there lurks an evil unsuppressed by all the intentions of saints together. The greatest crimes of the world are committed through word and intent, unsurpassed by all the actions of demons at once. Perhaps this is why humanity was doomed to suffer eternally. Perhaps the void of darkness that dwells within the heart of man is Satan himself. I suppose we shall never know, but the thought lingers still._

It was then that she saw what Shianni had been looking at- Lord Vaughan, as well as his men, were coming their way. One of his men unsheathed his sword as they came closer. The nasty, cruel, grin of a rat formed upon the noble's lips. His intentions, although unknown, were clearly not of good merit.

"Excuse me for interfering," he said with rotten drag in tone, "I hate to spoil a good celebration, but I have my own to attend to. If you would be so kind," he continued, "I should like some of the ladies to attend. If not-" The rest of his men drew their swords, "well, I doubt that's going to happen." The laugh that followed was enough to make the vilest of sewer creatures writhe in disgust. It was sickening in every fashion of evil.

Faces of friends and family glanced back at one another, searching for somebody, anybody, to explain what was going on. Ornatia looked up at her fiancé, hoping for recognition that the day's events had simply been a dream- that there would be no wedding, that the current events unfolding before them were indeed subject of the imagination. Instead, she looked into the face of a man who appeared to be just as shocked as she. Nelaros released her shaking hand as she searched for Soris.

The horror that followed happened in a blaze, too fast for Ornatia or anyone else to remember with clarity. No one dared to come any closer to the commotion than they had before; mothers pulled their small children from the streets, swiftly closing and locking the doors behind them. Only Shianni spoke up, as was her reckless and brave nature.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Leave! Can't you see that we're having a wedding?"

Lord Vaughan took several steps closer, until he was face to face with her. Shianni swore she could feel his breath on her as he lowered himself to her eyelevel. His dark eyes showed no emotion whatsoever, she noted mentally. Trying to create a gap between them, she stepped back. To her utter distress, he took a step forward.

"Well, well, well," he began in an eerily threatening tone, "Aren't you feisty." He leaned in closer yet, so his head was beside her's, and his mouth was at her ear. "_How fun_," he whispered.

"You creep!" she screamed frantically, "Get away!" she slapped him, full force, across the cheek. Remarkably, her nails scratched him rather deeply, drawing blood.

"Oh, you'll regret the day you were born…" he gasped, shoving her to the ground. "Take her, for starters," he instructed the men behind him.

"Shianni!" Ornatia screamed, "Don't touch her!" Desperately she turned to Soris, "Do something!"

Vaughan's attention was caught by Ornatia's pleas for help. "Be careful with the pretty one. Bruises would be such a shame." Nelaros reached out, only to be intercepted by one of Lord Vaughan's men's blades. He and Soris could only watch the Chaos, helplessly, as both their brides were taken away. Valora tried to scream, but only a squeaked burst of air shot out. Neither she nor any of the other women being taken understood what was happening, let alone contemplate what the future held in mind. Ornatia held on to her sanity with the last of her conscious effort, remaining calm as she was shoved away from friends and family. Only her eyes reflected the true panic within.

"You _are_ a pretty one, _miss_," laughed the guard who now had a death drip on her arm, making a small tear on the fragile cloth of her dress, seemingly finding it hysterically ironic to call an elven woman 'miss.' "I wonder if you're as fiery as the red head?"

Something in Ornatia snapped. Her plans to remain calm and talk her way out of the horror crumbled and turn to ash beneath her flaming rage. She was, indeed, as fiery as the 'red head.'

"Let go!" she shouted with all her might, managing to momentarily shake off the armoured guard. Backing up and lowering herself into a defensive posture, one leg, bent, before the other, she picked up a rock, holding it above her head threateningly and in a rather ferocious and barbaric manner.

Clearly not taking the threat for what it was, the guard once again laughed, stepping up as if to take the stone from her hand. She chucked it forcefully at his face, knocking him to the ground. How unfortunate for the lad, being that he had not been wearing a helmet. He moaned as he attempted to lift himself out of the dirt, holding his forehead in hand. Blood poured intently from the gash the large stone had left behind. She turned to flee, readying herself to sprint. To her dismay, however, another guard was coming her way. She expected the worst as he drew is sword, now only four or five feet away.

"You little bi-"

Then darkness.

Her eyelids fluttered open, wondering, once again, _had it all been a dream? _As the realization of where she was hit her, she wished only for the sweet, lukewarm darkness of nothing. Death, no. Sleep, no, it was too late. Simply nothing- nothing for her, or her friends around her.

"Ornatia? Are you okay? You're awake!" Valora spoke with a certain blatant optimism that Ornatia had not expected.

"Obviously, I am. What's going on? Where are we?" Even under the current circumstances, Ornatia refused to let go of her usual, cynical attitude towards anyone other than Soris.

"They, they…" Valora stammered, "took some of us, they took me and you-"

'_I know that much,' _Ornatia mutter inaudibly under her breath.

"and Shianni, and a couple other girls! Oh, it's terrible! Someone knocked you with the blunt of his sword, and they dragged you here. Shianni, she was screaming the whole time! Oh, Shianni…"

Ornatia took the chance to look around the room. I was large, the ceiling high with walls made of great stone. Several pieces of embroidered tapestry and many paintings hung from the wall. There was no bed, or desk. Just many seats and side tables, arranged around a monstrous, unlit fireplace. Two other girls, both elves, sat in the room, huddled quietly by themselves, one shedding silent tears. They were obviously traumatized, by what, Ornatia could only guess. As one should expect, she assumed the worst. Shianni was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?" asked the Ornatia, her grey eyes scanning the room. She spoke in a low voice that echoed throughout the cavernous room. The room, however decorated and adorned, sickened her.

Valora bent her head, hiding the despaired face she wore. "They took her," she muttered.

Before Ornatia had the chance to respond, a heavy door on the side of the room opened. She looked up, with a hopeful essence of eye, before mentally scolding herself for thinking that some gallant knight would arrive, gliding through the doorframe, bringing Shianni to safety. No, that was as foolish thought. No knight would give a second though to the well-being of elves. By some cruel manner of destiny, only those souls born in to princess-hood were given that noble birthright. Instead, yet another guard paced in, heavy metal boot-guards clinging ominously against the stone floor. The two elves huddled in the corner lowered their head, not out of any form of respect, but in the hopes of not being noticed. Lucky for them, they weren't. Instead, Lord Vaughan's guard briskly came towards Valora and Ornatia. Ornatia observed how eerie it was to hear a voice from beneath the man's helmet, yet see no signs of his lips moving.

"Get up," he ordered sternly, showing no such signs of humor, however sick, as the previous guard. "Lord Vaughan was hoping you'd be awake by now."

He grabbed her by the collar of her dress, which was already heavily worn and dirty (she imagined this was due to her fall after she had apparently been knocked out), and dragged her to her feet before shoving her towards the door. Ornatia, now, learned to watch her tongue and movements. Unlike the man who had grabbed her by the arm originally, she seriously doubted that this guard could be evaded. Once again, she attempted to remain calm. "I highly recommend," the guard warned, "that you not try anything with Lord Vaughan. It won't help you any, and he'll just have fun 'reprimanding' you for it. Do as he says, and maybe you won't end up like that other girl… the loud one."

Ornatia was pushed through several hallways and corridors before they stopped before a massive door that made even the towering guard beside her appear diminutive. "Remember what I told you," he stated, shortly thereafter pushing the door open and shoving her inside, closing it behind her.

"Shianni!" she shouted, seeing her friend lying in the middle of the floor. "What did they do to you?!"

Shianni's already ragged dress had been torn in several places, and a small amount of blood could be seen on the skirt. Her eyes appeared strained and red; it was obvious that she had been crying. Shianni looked up into Ornatia's eyes, and without words, confided in her cousin what had happened. Ornatia understood immediately, breaking eye contact only to embrace the girl who had been violated in the worst possible way. "It's going to be okay," she promised, "don't worry."

"Ah!" came a voice beyond the opening door opposite to them. "I see the sleeping beauty has awoken." Shianni winced, and Ornatia recognized the voice at once- Vaughan. She truly felt like gouging his eyes, and ripping out that nasty tongue. The fact that three guards stood at his sides and behind quickly waved away any such plans. Revenge, though, is usually a much more passionate and impulsive thing, but the guard who had brought her to the room was right; it wouldn't help anything to act in a careless manner. She quickly rose to her feet, standing between Lord Vaughan's men and Shianni. "Now, now…" came the rat-man's voice, taking note of Ornatia's posture, "no need to be so defensive. I was hoping you'd be ready by now." His voice was deceptive, and she again wished nothing but to rip out his tongue.

"What do you want?" Ornatia asked in a low, threatening voice.

"What do you _think_?" he laughed, "just ask _her_," motioning towards Shianni.

"You son-of-a-"

"Mind your tongue!" the man to his right shouted, "Lest you lose it!" Lord Vaughan laughed at the notion, holding his stomach as if getting a joke.

"Now, doesn't that sound like fun?" he mocked. "Oh, don't look so tempered," he said, stepping closer and pinching her cheeks. Shall we cut the dialogue short? My mother always told me not to play with… dessert." He made her sick.

As if by cue, two of the guards took Ornatia by each arm, moving her out of the room and into yet another hallway. "Ornatia!" screamed Shianni, once again in tears.

"Don't worry!" Her cousin, just as frantic, repeated. Lord Vaughan chuckled at the commotion, leading the way through multiple room and hallways. At last, they arrived at what was her 'destination,' of sorts. Guiding her into the room (pushing, really), Lord Vaughan stood before a chest of drawers, pulling out garment from one of its compartments.

"Put this on," he instructed with a demented grin. "I think it will suit you just fine," shoving it into her hands before leaving the room, locking the door behind him. "I'll be back," he called, as if trying to sound charming, which made it all the worse.

Once alone, Ornatia held up what had been given to her. _Funny, _she thought, _I thought that you weren't supposed to be able to see through clothes. _It was a long nightgown, really, with a drawstring holding together the bodice. It was ever so slightly transparent. Translucent, if you wish. _I swear to the Maker, I'll die before I put this thing on. _She grinned to herself, _for all I know, he's a necrophile- the sick bastard. _She rummaged through the drawers of the dresser, looking for something to use as a weapon. _Nothing_. She looked under the bed. _Nothing_. The vanity. _Nothing_. The desk- and ornate letter opener, which would have to do.

The footsteps coming towards the door gave her little time in advance to think, so she quickly hid beneath the large canopy bed. It was abundantly obvious where she hid, she knew, seeing as there was literally not a single other place to avoid the eye. She wasn't working with unlimited and fruitful resources, but it was better than nothing. It would buy her a few seconds. Swiftly, she tucked it into her boots.

The door creaked open, and she heard his footsteps walk in. _Five_, she counted. _Four. Three. Two. One…_


	4. The Bloody Bride

_The greatest acts of kindness are humble, as the one who acts upon good will rarely understands it full impact upon the lives of others. The most significant acts of evil, too, are humble, yet in a different sense. However cruel or sadistic they may be, they are most often acts of ignorance, misunderstanding, and thoughtlessness. The worst pain imaginable, possibly, is experienced with full knowledge that the person whom intended to harm you did so because he aimed to inflict conscious suffering._

The footsteps coming towards the door gave her little time in advance to think, so she quickly hid beneath the large canopy bed. It was abundantly obvious where she hid, she knew, seeing as there was literally not a single other place to avoid the eye. She wasn't working with unlimited and fruitful resources, but it was better than nothing. It would buy her a few seconds. Swiftly, she tucked it into her boots.

The lock clicked. The door creaked open, and she heard his footsteps walk in. _Five_, she counted. _Four. Three. Two. One…_

_Zero. _From beneath the bed, Ornatia could see two feet. Her heart raced, and her breath was heavy. She swore they could be heard from miles away. The feet paced around the room. Luckily, as she observed, no guards came with Lord Vaughan. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to carry out her escape. She knew she would have to be quick and silent, surely his 'minions' would come running if they heard a struggle.

"Ornatia?" a voice whispered, "are you in here?" It did not belong to Lord Vaughan, instead, it sounded incredibly familiar. The masculine voice was definitely younger that Vaughan or any of his men, at least the ones she knew. Still, she wasn't taking any chances; she drew out the letter opener from her boot.

"Soris?" she asked rather softly, preparing for the likely event that it was, in fact, _not_ Soris.

"Oh, thank the Maker! I was worried I wouldn't be able to find you; Shianni said they took you this way. I wasn't sure which door to open. I guess I'm just lucky."

"Let's get out before we start talking about luck. I'll probably jinx it sooner or later." Ornatia spoke softly as she crawled out from her hiding spot. "How is Shianni? Did you leave her there?"

"No, I had Nelaros take her and the others back. Look, we better get going, before _they_ get back. I waited until I was sure they left, but there's no telling when they'll return." Nelaros glanced cautiously around the room, listening for other voices.

Ornatia stuck the letter opener back into her boot. "Did you bring a weapon?" she asked Soris. He nodded, showing her the bow and quiver on his back. "Good."

On their way out, Ornatia threw the gown on the floor, stepping on it as she walked past. She led the way, checking both directions outside of the door for any signs of Vaughan or his men. She decided to walk back the way she came, turning right and heading straight down the expansive hallway. "Walk as quietly as you can," she instructed.

"By the way," she continued, "how exactly did you open the door? I heard it lock with Vaughan left."

"Oh, he left the key under the rug," he chuckled. "World class idiot, if you ask me."

Even walking slowly along the runner carpet, each step left a small echo in the hall. Every few seconds, and each time they turned a corner, Soris checked behind. What was actually around five minutes seemed like an hour; both Soris' an Ornatia's hearts raced. If they came face to face with a guard, there was no doubt in their minds that neither of them would have a chance. Ornatia's decorative letter opener was no match for a sword. Soris doubted that his make-shift arrows would penetrate armor; he merely used them for target practice.

Once they arrived in the room in which Ornatia had woken, Soris took the lead. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, he nocked it swiftly, holding the bow below his waist, tense and ready to aim. He motioned towards the door with his head, since both hands were currently occupied. Ornatia stepped forward, opening the door and backing up. "This is where we may run in to trouble," he whispered, "stay absolutely silent, and for both our sakes, stay aware." Soris was correct, as they entered another hallway, this one especially long, with beams stretching across the high ceiling; they heard men's voices- most likely belonging to Lord Vaughan's guards. The voices were coming from the room straight across the hall.

"There has to be another way out," Ornatia whispered, her voice hoarse with fear.

"That's the main entrance, I think," Soris returned, "but that's not the way I came. Too hard to slip past the guards. We have to take the servants' door, through the kitchen."

Soris led to the second door on the left, past a painting that seemed to be a rather grumpy Lord's Lady of past. _Ugly for a Noble, _Ornatia thought. _It was probably a political marriage. I can't imagine even a mother could love a face like that. I mean, look at that mole on her chin…_

"Hurry up, the more time we take the more likely Vaughan will send his men to find you," Soris noted.

They entered a room filled with the scent of a great variety of meats- salted pork, roasted chicken, seared fish, grilled beef- it was incredibly difficult, to say the least, for the two to stay focused. About seven servants, slaves, more-so, were crowded within the kitchen. Although immediately taking notice of the outsiders, the bow made it fairly obvious, no one said a word. They all pretended they didn't see a thing. One, even, appeared to be grinning ever-so-slightly. Ornatia and Soris sprinted to the other side of the kitchen, the first grabbing a chicken leg as they moved on. "What?" she asked, rather defensively, "I haven't eaten since… how long _has_ it been, actually? Never mind."

Whilst eating her 'take out,' noisily, as much to the irritation of Soris, they passed into the last hallway before the side exit. Low and behold, there was a guard. One might presume their destinies were pre-determined by Steven Spielberg, seeing as an enraged Lord Vaughan and several more guards burst in from the kitchen behind them.

"You're not going anywhere, elf!" he announced, dramatic to an unnecessary extent.

Soris covered the guard at the entrance, aiming his bow, while Ornatia faced Vaughan. _How Cliché, _she thought, _Villains always blabber on before they do anything. Now, think, Ornatia, Think! _Quickly, Ornatia threw the remainder of her chicken leg at Vaughan's face, more towards the goal of wiping that infuriating grin off of his face. That, it most certainly achieved, although at the cost of one of his guards lunging at her.

Meanwhile, Soris kept the door guard at a distance, who happened to be laughing at the chicken leg charade going on before him.

Ornatia, still in her wedding dress, had the advantage of speed. Despite the large iron sword being swung at her, she managed to duck, evading what would have been a sharp gash to the chest. Having missed unexpectedly, the guard stumbled forward, allotting her the chance to step behind him, jumping up with her legs around his waist. "Get off!" he stammered, whilst she pulled back his helmet. Without a second's hesitation, she slid the letter opener from her boot, holding its point inward against the side of his neck. This came as a definite surprise to the guard, who only let out a nervous gurgle before she pressed it firmly into his skin. The skin was thicker and tougher that she thought it would be. Nevertheless, she pulled it, with much effort, across the front of his neck. All of this occurred within a matter of seconds. She dropped, watching the guard clasp desperately at his neck before collapsing in a pool of his own blood- which continued to flow with great abundance. With her first kill, however, she lost the element of surprise.

To the two men at Vaughan's side, it looked as if a ghost had slaughtered the Guard in from of them. The white dress she wore flashed for an instant as she had wrapped herself around him, slashing his through from ear to ear with what they thought had been a small knife. Now, the girl they saw was covered in a mass of blood.

The guard that Soris kept aim at no longer laughed. Soris, not seeing what had happened behind him, was uncertain why.

Ornatia glared at the two guards and their master she now faced. A low, instinctual growl erupted from the depth of her throat, as if to say, 'back off.' While the guards took the message for what it was, Lord Vaughan merely saw the girl as an escaped trophy. "Get her!" he screamed, "And keep her alive!"

The two armored men at his sides looked at each other before stretching out their swords and hesitantly approaching. While Ornatia now knew she could manage one guard with significant effort, she was not sure as to whether she could deal with two.

Soris, now aware that Ornatia was being attacked, fired his drawn arrow. Although it did not miss, it splintered against the guard's layers of armor and chainmail, most likely only causing a bruise. The guard, no longer being aim at, lunged as Soris. He, too, was incredibly clumsy in his heavy armor, being evaded with a swift sidestep on his enemy's part. Soris, not knowing what else to do, whacked the guard with adrenaline-fueled force on the head with his bow. He didn't stop with that, continuing to hit him on the head with increasingly more energy, until the guard was knocked out cold. Taking a brief moment to congratulate himself on victory, he loaded another arrow and came to the aid of his cousin. It was only then, he realized, that Ornatia had already accomplished her own victory. A bloody victory, but an achievement all the same.

Soris quickly fired at the guard closest to Ornatia, resulting in an opening of his defense. Ornatia jumped at the guard, this time in front, much like she did the other, sliding the dripping letter-opener through the helmet's eye-slot. This, even for someone who had become used to the regular violence within the alienage, made her sick at the stomach. The guard shrieked and dropped his sword, crying out with a scream that turned the guts of everyone in the hall. He grabbed at his face, from which blood spurted profusely.

Soris once again loaded his bow, pulling an arrow from the quiver to nock. Ornatia picked up the sword of the man she recently vanquished, holding it towards the remaining, seemingly younger guard. Her glare was ferocious and animal-like. The guard dropped his sword, holding up his hands, and backed up against the wall. His spoke with his eyes, saying, '_please don't hurt me!'_

"Smart boy," Ornatia laughed, putting her foot open the surrendered boy's blade, kicking it back for Soris to pick up. "Now, for you…" she growled, blade facing Vaughan. "How do you plead?" she joked.

Lord Vaughan was now in a state of furious terror, if one could imagine such a temperament. "What do you want?" he asked, stuttering a bit.

"Oh, I think you know," she mocked, referencing their previous dialogue. "Why don't you just ask him," she recommended with a now sinister grin, pointing with her stolen sword at the dead guard at her feet. "Well?" she asked.

"Money, how much do you want?" he countered. "Give me a number!"

"No, no, I don't think I want money. I'll give you one more guess. Try." Ornatia's face was now purely demonic.

Vaughan gulped, stammering "I'll give whatever you want, just…"

"Whatever I want, eh?" She took three steps forward, holding her sword to Vaughan's chest. She leaned up on her toes, whispering, "How fun."

She stepped back, pulling her sword from his chest. She lowered it, laughing hysterically. In a flash, she lifted it up, pulling it down from abdomen to gut. Vaughan collapsed, lying on his back. He gurgled as bled out, his back arching in pain. Ornatia watched as he died, slowly.

Soris and the remaining guard, arms still risen, stared at Ornatia in horror. Soris, most of all, was shocked. He looked at his cousin as if she were a stranger. And honestly, she had become one. She was no longer the stubborn girl, avoided marriage. She was a woman. A brutal, passionate woman. She did not kill for love of death, she killed for the bloodshed of revenge. She turned away from Lord Vaughan as the blood's flow lost speed. Her grey eyes were filled with tears, and her eyebrows were tense and pressed. Her hair, barely contained within the once elegant bun, was caked with others' blood. Her face, too, was splattered. Her dress was torn and soaked in red. She was a frightening mess. The sword she still held clashed to the ground, the metal's cling resounding in the hall.

"Let's go," she mumbled, hiding her face.


End file.
